


Lonely

by Semebay



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semebay/pseuds/Semebay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the usxuk anniversary event~ Theme 4: Deep in the hearts of the people of these islands...lay the desire to be truly reconciled before all men and all history with their kindred across the Atlantic Ocean, to blot out the reproaches and redeem the blunders of a bygone age, to dwell once more in spirit with them, to stand once more in battle at their side, to create once more a union of hearts, to write once more a history in common. That was our heart's desire.- Winston Churchill July 4, 1918. London </p><p>Arthur just wasn't ready to open up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original Publication Date: April 6, 2010

  
Written for the usxuk anniversary event~ Theme 4: _Deep in the hearts of the people of these islands...lay the desire to be truly reconciled before all men and all history with their kindred across the Atlantic Ocean, to blot out the reproaches and redeem the blunders of a bygone age, to dwell once more in spirit with them, to stand once more in battle at their side, to create once more a union of hearts, to write once more a history in common. That was our heart's desire.- Winston Churchill July 4, 1918. London_  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
I totally tried looking up the quote, but... didn't find it. Damn. I dunno what the events surrounding the quote was (I can guess) so here ya go.   
  


* * *

  
  
The times were changing. It was painfully obvious. After a world war, the destruction, _everything,_ Churchill had called him aside, his intelligent eyes dark as he watched the former empire appproach him.   
  
England's age showed in his eyes, and the way he held himself when he walked showed how he had survived through the times, fighting to keep his power and control, to keep himself from falling prey to other enemies. He was proud. He was stubborn, strong. He was so many things, but he never showed any sign of the weaknesses beneath the surface, even through the fighting and the land grabbing.   
  
"What do you need?"   
  
Churchill said nothing. He held a small scrap of paper in his hand, then slowly extended his arm. England took it quickly and held it up under the light, clearing his throat.   
  
As he read the paper, his prominent brows lowered over the green eyes dulled by centuries of war and carnage. He was silent for a long time. His body became still, and Churchill could see that his tight grip had left a slight crease in the paper. When he finally spoke, his words were heavy, and his tone was laced with both suspicion and hostility.   
  
"What is this?"   
  
Churchill didn't pretend not to notice England's disbelief, and the anger hidden beneath the surface. He carefully slipped the paper from England's white fingers, folding it and storing it away in his pocket.   
  
"I'm presenting this in a few days-"   
  
" _When?_ "   
  
"The fourth."   
  
England said nothing. He slowly sat down in an old wooden chair by a window, and he turned his eyes to the streets. The people were continuing on with their lives, unaffected by the new stress that their country had come under. England almost wished that they could feel his discontent, so that he didn't have to deal with it alone.   
  
"You don't like it?" Churchill asked, his voice hinting his amusement.   
  
"You wish to insult me before the world?" England said softly. "You wish to humiliate me?"   
  
"I simply want them to know that we are not the same as the people of our past-"   
  
" _I_ am the same-"   
  
"-the times have changed, and so have you!" Churchill's voice was still calm despite his slightly narrowed eyes. "You can no longer be alone. You can't build an empire, you need allies. Allies to help defend you against the forces that would see you killed."   
  
"The damned date- please don't tell me this is really a message to _him_."   
  
Churchill let England's words hang in the space between them. He sighed and followed Arthur's gaze to the people in the streets. "You've been alone for far too long," he murmured. "You can't keep this distance between yourself and others-"   
  
"I don't distan-"   
  
"You make yourself appear stronger than you are. You push people away with every word you speak, and every action you take. You're lonely."   
  
"I'm not fucking-"   
  
"England."   
  
England fell silent, his lip twitching as he held back a frown. He kept his eyes aimed towards the streets, and Churchill left him there. 

~*~

"I don't want you here."   
  
America stood in the doorway silently, watching as England paced back and forth, tossing books from his desk onto shelves. "There's no reason for you to _be_ here. I can handle it myself. I don't need some brat from across the ocean to help where he's not wanted."   
  
"That's not what your boss said," America said. "Wha' was it again? You wanted t' redeem yourself an' reconcile? _Across_ the Atlantic Ocean?"   
  
"My boss can be a fool at times," England growled. "Sticking his nose where it's not wanted..."   
  
"Not wanted, but needed?" America grinned, flashing his teeth and waiting for England to make the next move.   
  
England threw a vase at him.   
  
America ducked down to avoid the ceramic vase, and it crashed into the wall in the hallway behind him. The pieces fell to the floor and America looked back towards England, his grin slightly strained.   
  
"I don't think killing me is going to help your case," America chuckled, and he was forced to duck again when England found another vase.   
  
"Fucking ungrateful piece of shi-"   
  
"Will you cut it out?" America dodged a plate, and he held his hands up in a sign of truce. "Listen, I'm just here to help! Honest!"   
  
"I don't want your-"   
  
"Just, let me do what I can," America cut in. "I don't want to get in a fight with you. I just... Can we get along?"   
  
"No."   
  
"England, come on." America crossed his arms, and England paused as his hand touched a pot. "Give me a chance. Please? I just want to help out."   
  
"If you pull your weight for once, I might think about it," England snapped, wrapping his hand around the lip of the pot.   
  
America grinned. He said nothing more, and instead, he turned away from the Brit and moved down the hall, whistling one of his songs. England's grip loosened on the pot, and it rolled off the shelf and crashed on the floor.   
  
England seemed to come to himself, and he looked around as the broken pottery and ceramics.   
  
He groaned.   
  
"Bullocks."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Publication Date: April 10, 2010

Anger was a curious emotion. There were so many ways to express it. From thrown vases to shouting matches in the rain, anger was an emotion that could be shown anytime and anywhere.

 

Like right now. England was expressing his anger through heated glares, loud talking, and a presence that threatened to engulf the people standing before him, resulting in a very uncomfortable atmosphere that no one wanted to be a part of.

 

“America isn't even here,” England snapped, his narrowed eyes watching the additional flag that hung outside his quarters, contorting and twisting in the breeze that swept through the streets. “This is _my_ residence. Not his. So why the hell are we flying his damned flag?”

 

“It's only a temporary residence,” one of the men mumbled, and the other jumped forward before England had a chance to tear into him.

 

“Mr. America is arriving later today,” the second said quickly to divert attention from his partner. “He requested to stay here, so we thought that-”

 

“He is an intruder, not a guest,” England snapped. “As such, there is no reason to fly his flag. Remove it, _now_.”

 

“He said you'd say that,” the first grumbled, and England's eyes flitter over to him.

 

The second jumped in once again. “He just thought it would be a good idea, to show how the countries are getting along post-”

 

“I'd like to listen to _him_ ,” England pointed at the first, “not you. He seems to have some idea of what he's talking about.”

 

The first flushed, and England waited impatiently, crossing his arms and drumming the fingers of his right hand on his left elbow. “I don't have all day. Hurry the fuck up and talk.”

 

“He said you were going to be mad, but he was just keeping up his end of the deal.”

 

“What deal?”

 

“Something about pulling his weight.” The soldier began to look nervous, probably realizing that he wasn't in a favorable position before the wrath of England. “I thought you knew.”

 

“Dumbass,” the second man grumbled. “Why else would America not want us to tell England?”

 

“Oh.” The first coughed, and England pointed up.

 

“Get rid of it. Now.”

 

“Eh. Leave it up.”

 

England sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hand.

 

Again, Churchill was being a pain in the ass.

 

“And why would you want it up?” England said, fighting to keep his voice level.

 

“There might be some merit to this 'Special Relationship',” Churchill said. He had his hands on his hips as he looked up at the flags, a small smile on his face.

 

“It's between the governments, not us.”

 

Churchill shrugged. “If you really think that way, then fine. It's between the governments.”

 

England didn't fail to notice the hidden message behind Churchill's words, but before he could turn on the man, there was a shout and he was thrown into the door of the building.

 

The door cracked and fell open, torn from its hinges by the weight of the men that had crashed into it. England was sputtering angrily and trying to beat the tar out of the man on top of him, trying to shift his body to relieve the pain of the doorknob digging into his back.

 

“Get off, you bleeding git!” England howled, but the man on top of him wasn't willing to move.

 

Instead, America was doing his best to keep the island nation pinned below him as he babbled on about something that England couldn't hear past the snickers and gasps of disbelief in the street. England tried to work his leg up between them in an attempt to push America away, but the large nation instead stood and pulled him to his feet.

 

That was all England needed to rip him a new ass hole.

 

“Now you listen!” England snapped, and America looked at him in confusion. “What gives you the right to march in here and start ordering people around, and changing things? You incorrigible little-”

 

“But we're together now, right?” America tilted his head to the side, and England groaned.

 

“No, America, we're not. That was just your boss's misled-”

 

“Hey, have you been up to your room yet?” America interrupted, and he grabbed England's arm and dragged him up the staircase. “Gotta show you something!”

 

England tried to pull his arm away, but soon gave up. American was too enthusiastic to accidentally let go, and England decided that they could at least have a little bit of privacy while he proceeded to tell the American exactly what he thought of his actions. Of course, his mind came to a screeching halt when America pulled him into the bedroom, and he was met with... _boxes._

 

England didn't bother trying to guess what all the boxes were. America was watching him with a wide smile, _waiting_ for his reaction. That smile was met with a scowl, and England waited impatiently.

 

“Well?” America asked eagerly. England did nothing. “What do y' think?”

 

“What is this about?” England finally asked, wondering if answering him would make him leave sooner.

 

“Well, I pulled my weight, didn't I?” America asked. England shrugged. “You said that if I pulled my weight, you'd give me a chance. So, I'm here to collect!”

 

“I don't think you can collect on... _chances_.”

 

“Well, I am,” America said, and he popped open the top of one of the boxes. “See?"

 

England didn't want to look. He really didn't. But America was already pulling out smaller boxes and containers, and England wrinkled his nose.

 

“Is that-”

 

“Ice cream? Yep. And I've got chocolate in here.”

 

“Combining two deliciously healthy staple foods,” England muttered, and America began nodding his agreement. “I was being sarcastic, you git.”

 

“Just come on, England,” America whined. “The war's over, things are looking better, we have to do something fun!”

 

“I have to rebuild,” England snapped, but America was already yanking him towards a table.

 

“Sit down and have some fun.” America beamed. “You're way too tense. Have some ice cream.”

 

England tried to find answers in the other's face. He had thought it would be easy considering how childish America was, but surprisingly he couldn't figure anything out. “You planned all of this, didn't you?”

 

“Stephen told you I told them to put up the flag,” America grinned.

 

“Not that.” England narrowed his eyes. “The 'Relationship.' You must have been behind it.”

 

_There it was._

 

America laughed England's accusation off, but the slight flush to his cheeks and the averted eyes told England everything he needed to know.

 

“Anyways, have some ice cream!” America was already digging through the boxes for the right flavor, and England saw that there really wasn't a lot of ice cream within.

 

Most of it was mail and documents, likely related to the loans, and the business that was picking up between the countries. America gave an “a- _ha!_ ” before returning from the box, and England sighed.

 

Maybe it wasn't that bad.


End file.
